The Play

Small things,
Ordinary routines,
Like sipping tea in the early morning,
Bring on deeply entrenched
Thoughts of abiding sadness,
Gripping my soul,
Welling up to the surface
Like the words of the playwright,
Spilling out onto Life’s paper.

Despite attempts to remain optimistic,
Fear the third act will remain unfinished,
Stuck in the Theatre of the Absurd,
Flow like adrenaline before taking the stage
That I will never meet, never know,
Never rehearse, or play opposite,
Never join hands with my leading man
To take a bow
As the footlights come up.

Yet, buried deep within,
A sprig of hope remains,
That Writer’s Block is but a temporary aberration,
As is Stage Fright,
Granting me the inner peace, and strength
To continue to audition on Life’s Stage,
Believing my soul mate will some day appear,
Striding on from the wings
To join me downstage center.